


Worms

by Spiffing



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Character Death, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Food Issues, Gen, Hannibal Loves Will, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Mind Games, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Amnesia, don't argue with me on this, nothing makes sense, who really knows?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiffing/pseuds/Spiffing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime after Will rejected the notion that they are friends, Hannibal confesses to the crimes he framed Will with and Will is released from prison.</p><p>Will is suspicious. He wants to know why Hannibal confessed. Hannibal gives nothing away, leaving more questions than answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worms

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

It would be easy to believe that there has been enough evidence to counter the initial evidence against him... which had now resulted with granting him a pardon. But, he knows that that wouldn't be possible if the person responsible for framing him hadn't allowed it to happen. He wondered what had transpired, how it could have occurred, when the last time Hannibal Lecter had visited him, he'd shown no sign of leniency- only if Will accepted that he had done the things he'd been accused of. Lecter had had the audacity to consider them as being friends. Will had rejected the notion to which Lecter was as unflappable in response as he always seemed to appear to be.

Death sentence no longer hanging over his head and Chilton reluctant to let him go, Will was practically dragged out of Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane by Brian Zeller.

"That place gives me the creeps," Zeller muttered, the first actual sentence he'd said to him after seeing him. 

'Hey' doesn't count as a proper sentence. Neither does 'lets go'.

Will barely acknowledged the comment, knowing places more creepier than Chilton's poorly lit playground, stopping to stand a few feet away from the Audi that Zeller opened the driver's side door to. Zeller, noticing Will's lack of motion, paused and glanced at the other man.

"Are you getting in or what?" Zeller asked.

"Are you going to tell me what'd happened?" Will returned, standing his ground, wary and lost.

Zeller frowned, scoffing.

"You mean nobody's told you?"

Will gave him a blank look. Zeller looked away for a moment, disbelief and mild amazement marred his features. What Zeller said next confused and bewildered Will.

"Lecter confessed to killing those you were accused of and a whole bunch of other people we hadn't even been aware of," Zeller informed, leaning against the door frame. "Apparently the Strike case triggered a personality spilt where he had carried out the crimes of the copy cat. He figured out what was happening in between amnesiac episodes and panicked, manipulated the evidence accordingly onto the next possible suspect soon after- which just happens to be you."

It all sounded wrong in Will's ears. Something didn't add up.

"Lecter wouldn't just _confess_."

"Unless you're accusing me of lying, he did. Right in the middle of discussing a recent Copy Cat kill. When we realised he wasn't joking, Jack came close to strangling the life out of him. We let him at it a bit longer than we should've before we had to separate them."

"I'm presuming there's evidence?"

"Told us to check his refrigerator. We found neatly packed organs matching in DNA with most of the copy cat victims in air-sealed bags within the freezer. If I didn't know any better, I'd say his dark, evasive alter ego was planning to cook them up and eat them. The Strike, The Ripper and The Copy Cat Killer. That's three serial killing cannibals in the one year!"

Will pushed the unsettling thought away, his mind focussed mainly on Lecter disclosing that he was the murderer and framed him.

"Why would he confess?" Will questioned out loud, frowning.

Zeller shrugged, uncertain or simply not caring.

"Guilt?"

It wasn't possible. Will refused to believe guilt was the answer and won't accept the excuse that Alana had tried to use as a defence for Will, that Lecter was psychologically compromised. He can't see Lecter confessing straight up. It just isn't something he'd do willingly without some sort of fight. Lecter isn't a man who'd feel guilty about anything. Self assured, confident, prideful, narcissistic, opportunistic, positive. Everything Lecter does has purpose, grace. Almost like a grandiose performance to him yet layered artistically under demure gentlemanly bashfulness. A master manipulator who knows how to get what he wants, he wouldn't lower himself and simply confess because he felt unsettled.

Something had happened between the time he had seen him to him confessing and Will wanted to know what because he just couldn't figure it out. But he was afraid he'd get more than what he wanted. Experience working in law enforcement and the FBI has taught him that expecting the unexpected was futile.

"I can't quite see you volunteering to pick me up."

"Katz would have come if she hadn't had her hands full."

Zeller dropped him off at Wolf Trap saying little else except for offering to take him to a medical hospital for a check up and then asking if he was hungry for take out- both of which Will declined.

Will wasn't surprised at the bareness to the place he once called home. What did surprise him was the sound of paws trot across wooden floorboards outside his front door. He opened the door and saw Winston. A warmth spread across his chest at the sight of his most recent stray had kept returning.

"Hi, Winston," Will said, a smile appearing on his face for the first time in a long while, hurting his cheeks as he knelt down on one knee. "Missed me?"

The dog went up to him, recognising Will instantly and began licking at Will's face. Will chuckled, hugging Winston and running his fingers through his fur.

"I missed you too," Will murmured, eyes falling shut, feeling content.

***

Not once did he think seriously of visiting Lecter at Baltimore State Hospital.

He didn't want to see anyone.

Items were returned to him, bank account unfrozen, and currently jobless, Will spent the following days after his sudden release in the company of his dogs and alcohol.

Alana had came around his place with the other dogs to fetch Winston and had been surprised to see Will. It had been obvious that Alana had yet to receive the news of Lecter's confession and arrest. That had surprised Will greatly. He told Alana what he knew, which was very little. Alana left, apologising. He let her, knowing that finding out that a mentor and colleague she trusted over a friend is a serial killer would take time to sink in, deal with and move on from. He understood. He needed some time alone himself.

Will went to the store to buy more kibble and liquor.

Only when Alana returned a few days later, asking him to accompany her to visit Lecter, did Will give in to curiosity.

***

It was strange, seeing Lecter in the dark coloured jumpsuit, sitting on the side of the bed, distant-eyed, staring at the opposite wall like Will had done not long ago. Lecter's hair, parted to one side, looked impossibly soft. He also spotted a beard, short but untrimmed. He seemed unaware of their arrival, that he was now being observed, his expression was completely empty, his body swaying just slightly from side to side.

Lecter jolted, jumping to his feet and turned towards their way, when Alana suddenly left in a hurry, hand covering her mouth as she shook her head to herself, heels clicking against stone flooring.

Lecter's gaze shifted from the trajectory of Alana's abrupt departure and fell onto Will. It was difficult to go unnoticed, how those crimson flecked hazel eyes don't quite meet Will's own.

"Hello, Will," came the greeting, hoarse accented voice calm but apprehensive.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter," Will returned, civil.

A ghost of a smile fluttered across Lecter's lips before it faded back to nothing.

"How are you?" Lecter asked, remaining polite, quiet and unassuming.

"Fine," Will responded shortly. "You?"

"Can't complain," Lecter replied with a light, humourless chuckle. "I'm guessing the visit was Alana's idea."

Will didn't show any indication of a positive or negative. He knows Lecter knew.

A long stretch of silence followed. He had been half expecting Lecter to fill it but Lecter seemed content, his gaze returning to the wall moments later.

"Why did you confess?" Will ended up blurting out.

Jaw tightly shut, Will refused to take his question back due to embarrassment as he watched Lecter tilt his head, blinking a couple of times, before glancing over at Will, still avoiding eye contact.

"It was the right thing to do."

"You had no... qualms with framing me for five murders," Will pointed out, stony.

Will watched as Lecter's Adam's apple bobbed underneath the thin skin of his throat, discoloured purple by large hands, individual finger markings distinct against lightly tanned skin. Will could almost hear Lecter's laboured, choking breaths, wheezing behind his ears, just barely clinging to life, as the hands Jack wrapped around Lecter's throat continued to squeeze, wringing the air out of him.

"I felt guilty."

"Bull shit," Will hissed, fists clenched by his side.

Amusement vaguely, briefly made an appearance in Lecter's eyes.

"Perhaps I'm bull shitting just a little bit but I do feel guilty for what you had to endure under Chilton's administration."

It was absurd to hear Lecter swearing and yet here he was, having done just that.

"You've been drinking. Excessively. And you look far too thin. I can't say I approve," Lecter suddenly stated, looking at Will with chaste disappointment. "You should take better care of yourself. I didn't confess to nine murders and swap places with you just so you could drown in alcohol. There are other ways to cope and get on with life, Will."

"You're expecting me to be grateful? Why do you care anyhow?" Will countered with a wry twist of lips, unable to help the defensiveness he felt show in his unimpressed tone.

Lecter regarded him with kind eyes.

"I care about you very much, Will. What I did to you was wrong and defiled the very definition of a healthy, conventional friendship. You were unhappy. I sort to rectify that."

Will stared at Lecter. And stared. And then he looked away and laughed, a broken, quiet sounding thing but laughter all the same.

He didn't want to believe it but it did make sense. Despite living in luxury, all the fancy meals, expensive tailor-made suits and the many facets that is Hannibal Lecter's personality, Lecter's needs were as simple as they come. It wasn't just because Will was unhappy. After Will obviously rejected Lecter's claim that they were friends, Lecter grew unhappy too. And that just wouldn't do.

Lecter was probably the most curious, fearless, happy and content person Will has ever come across. Will didn't feel the need to let his... admiration? of that be known to anyone. Especially not to Lecter, someone who has betrayed his trusted, used him like he was just a puzzle to play with, willing killed multiple people just to prove a point and tip him over the edge, pinning the blame onto him just to save his own ass. Sure, Lecter cared, and Will had even started to like and care for Lecter too, but Lecter's care for him meant nothing after what he'd done, what he'd put him through, after his intentions of getting him to turn him into something he wasn't had been made clear.

But there was more to it. There was something Lecter was hiding. Another part in the equation they were missing and he couldn't see. What Lecter had just said was as close to an apology he was going to get. It would have been enough to hide the fact there was something else that he was protecting from being bare in sight. He wasn't sure if it was deliberate on Lecter's part: showing and saying enough to get Will curious. 

It was working and Will refused to acknowledge it.

Laughter settled, Will returned his attention to Lecter who, rather than considering Will's laughter as being rude, quickly lowered his gaze, the soft bangs of his hair fanning across his forehead making him look impossibly younger than he really was.

"You have a nice smile," Lecter murmured. "You should smile more often. It suits you."

Before Will could think of a response to the strange comment, Lecter changed the subject.

"How are the dogs?"

Will blinked rapidly.

"Um. They're doing alright. Alana had taken great care of them, in case you didn't know."

Lecter nodded, the corners of his lips just twitching slightly, an impression of a smile. It seemed almost wistful which didn't make any sense to Will at all.

Lecter became serious, his eyes careful and observant.

"Are you happy?"

Will frowned. "Why?"

Lecter gave a small nod, Will's response having confirmed whatever he had suspected.

"I suggest cutting back on the alcohol." Lecter considered him further, his eyes softening. "You are a good man, Will. You have so much potential and many years ahead of you. It'd be a shame for you to throw your life away. You have close friends and colleagues and your dogs who would miss you very much."

The hell? Did Lecter hit his head? Lecter was acting very different from all the other times he'd spoken with him in the past. An absence of a need to control and manipulate every aspect of conversation. He was being amiable and oddly compliant. Lecter was attempting to hold an actual conversation that Will imagined ordinary people would partake in, genuine concern and advice someone would give with a touch of something that was close to affection.

And that made Will suspicious.

"What are you playing at."

"Sorry?" Lecter asked, puzzled.

"You're hiding something. There's no use trying to pretend."

Lecter shook his head, denying it.

"I just want you to be happy."

"That's it?"

"I believe so, yes."

Lecter's simple, immediate response almost had Will believing him, and Will wanted to believe that Lecter was being honest and not twisting truths. But how Lecter was behaving now, courteous and collected as he'd always been, but now seemingly unguarded and transparent, it seemed too good to be true.

"I'm not buying it."

"I certainly hope not. I'm telling you under my own free will."

Will narrowed his eyes. Was that a pun? Really?

"You're hiding something and I'm going to find out what that something is. Goodbye, Dr. Lecter."

With that said, Will marched away and out of the block, but not before Lecter's gentle 'Goodbye, William' touched his ears, the echo of the soft spoken farewell following him all the way home and with him into sleep.

***

Less than a week later, Will found himself back at the god forsaken criminal asylum, standing in front of Lecter's cell. Lecter sat as he had before, on the bed, gaze infront of him, back straight as a priest's, unaware Will had returned until the rubber sole of Will's shoe squeaked against the hard, cold floor.

Lecter rose to his feet calmly and faced Will, offering a friendly smile, eyes aim lowered even further than the last visit, to Will's chin. Will couldn't help staring at the rub burn that overlapped the hand prints around Lecter's neck.

"Hello, Will."

Still courteous as before.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter," Will greeted back mildly.

Lecter watched him curiously for a moment.

"How are you?" Lecter asked.

"Fine. Yourself?"

"Quite well, thank you."

"You don't look it."

"Neither do you."

Will wasn't going to let Lecter off the hook so easily.

"Want to tell me why you did it?"

Lecter blinked. "Did what exactly?"

"You tried to hang yourself using the bed sheets."

"Is that what Frederick told you?" Lecter's feet shifted slightly. "I'd only wanted to add pull-ups to my improvised daily exercise regime, since I don't have permission to use the gym. I simply miscalculated."

"Miscalcu... Are you serious?"

Lecter adjusted the arm cuffs of his jumpsuit. "Quite."

"And Chilton believed you," Will dead-panned.

"I would think so. The sheets have returned to their intended proposed usage."

Lecter gave him an ironic smile when Will continued to look at him with disbelief.

"A psychopathic serial killer may threaten to kill themselves in a ditch attempt to manipulate and hurt others, but carrying out the act itself is a different story altogether. More often than not, their suicides are a result of an accident or a way out of a dead end in the game called Life."

Will made no move to refute the statement, seeing the trap he would become tangled in if he does and recognising that the voice behind the words were Chilton's. He wasn't sure how to respond to be honest. 

Lecter wasn't quite the model psychopath and the thought of Lecter committing suicide didn't match up inside his head.

"May I ask why you're here?" Lecter inquired, still so damn polite.

"How about you tell me why you confessed."

"You already know my answer."

"We both know that you need at least one other reason to do things. What did you hope to gain?"

"I had been hoping to gain your forgiveness but that would be cruel."

"You don't need other people's forgiveness."

"I can't say I disagree with you."

"Well? If it's not forgiveness then what is it?"

"You're going to have to work harder than that to get the truth out of me."

Will frowned, watching Lecter as Lecter lifted his eyes. Their eyes met and Will had to look away. Back in the initial days of whatever it was they had, Lecter had been difficult to read, Will couldn't meet his eyes. But, back then, Will hadn't been interested enough to want to. When he caught the glimpse of who Lecter was behind all the pleasantness and sophistication, he saw the rest of him underneath, rattling the chains that held him down by the constraints of society. The Jekyll of his Hyde. The Hannibal to his Lecter. It had been easy to look him in the eyes, then, when he saw enough of the true nature that lurked behind the domesticated front. By then, he had gotten into Will's head.

"What do you see?"

Will shook his head. He saw very little of the man in front of him right now match up to the man he grew to know before. He knew, from the first glimpse he had seen him since he confessed to his crimes that he was looking at someone completely different. He couldn't see the darkness within Lecter. Someone else was inhabiting beneath the mask, warning him not to dig. It was different and yet for some reason it felt familiar, closer than he had ever felt from someone else.

"You've changed."

"How have I changed?" Lecter asked, curious.

"It's been barely two weeks. I-I can't see you."

"I'm right here. I haven't changed. I am still the man you know me to be."

"I can't see the killer in you."

Lecter frowned.

"Will. I haven't changed," Lecter insisted.

"My inner voice sounds like Dr. Lecter and he's telling me you're all wrong. You've changed. You've changed and I don't know who you are any more."

Lecter closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"Why did you really confess?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Lecter murmured quietly.

"Try me. I have time."

"I think you should leave and come back when you're sober."

"Then this will be the last time I'd be seeing you."

Will had expected Lecter to react to that with shock or disbelief, but all Lecter did was nod his head sadly, his eyes remained closed.

"I suppose it's best you don't return... even if you are sober."

And Will left, vowing to never return again.

Except he did.

He wasn't certain how many days had passed before he got a call from Chilton of all people. He thought he'd heard wrongly because the thought of it was impossible, but he could tell by the manner of Chilton's speech that he wasn't lying.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is dead.

Lecter committed suicide, lying three-quarters down the length of his bed with his legs dangling off the end. His neck was in a noose made of sheets from the bed.

That was how Will found him an hour or so later.

The room was filled with suffocating sadness and despair. Lecter had crawled down the length of the bed until he snapped his neck. He'd died instantly.

There was a tray of food on the desk. It was untouched.

"He'd been unable to stomach food for a while," a stand in orderly provided. "Not sure why."

Will didn't respond, beginning to have a fair idea as to why, his eyes returning back to Lecter. He saw something a little to the side and slowly approached, ignoring those who were treating this like a foul play, Chilton and most of the staff that had been on duty in this block taken away for questioning.

His hands pulled out a thick leather bound journal hidden under the pillow, the corner of it having caught his attention. He flipped through it, frowning when almost a third of the beginning was blank before he found himself speechless. They were drawings. Stunning things. Like black and white photographs.

At first, Will thought it was of the times he and Lecter been in each other's company. But then there were also depictions of crime scenes with Jack, company with Alana, conversations with Abigail, support from Katz and stilted rapport with Zeller and Price. Depictions of feathered stags and melting icebergs and fly fishing with dead bodies swimming beneath the surface. Things he'd almost forgotten about, things Will didn't have the words to put into, things Will had never spoken about.

The further Will went through the journal, the more it felt like he was going back through time, small snapshots of the past. He didn't have photographs of half of these drawings and barely scratched the surface of discussing any of them to anyone.

Teaching at the Academy. Coffees with Alana. The incident when Will was stabbed while on duty. His time as a cop. Writing out reports. The time he caught a large fish. Every incident Will had taken in a stray. Sitting in the library at college. Fixing boat motors with dad. Moving to new schools. The first dog Will had come across. The first time Will was made fun of. Will bit his lip when he came to the last drawing. It was of a baby held in the arms of a woman he didn't immediately recognise. He realised it was him when he was a baby and the woman was his mom.

Will felt his chest tighten as he flipped the last page over, hoping for some words, an explanation perhaps.

There, on the inside cover of the journal's back, was a message.

> _To William Graham,_
> 
> _May time heal the pain of scars that refuse to be forgotten._
> 
> _You might want to ditch the liquor and take up drawing._
> 
> _Yours._

There was no name left after the message but Will didn't need to see it, recognising the two voices in the small missive immediately. One was obviously Hannibal. The other however... He wasn't sure what to make of it. Glancing over at Hannibal now, Will felt strangely empty, like he'd never be the same again.

He tucked the journal under his arm and quietly left, leaving the weight that had been on his chest behind and the unopened can of worms he'll find another day to open.


End file.
